


Putting The ‘Christian’ In Hans Christian Andersen

by strangeandcharm



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Little Mermaid, Angst, Castiel Whump, M/M, Mute Castiel, Pre-Slash, Revisionist Fairy Tale, Romance, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-23
Updated: 2013-09-23
Packaged: 2017-12-27 10:16:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/977577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangeandcharm/pseuds/strangeandcharm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With apologies to a certain fishy fairy tale...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Putting The ‘Christian’ In Hans Christian Andersen

**Author's Note:**

> This is as true to the spirit of the original as possible - up to a certain point. (If Disney can change the ending, I can have a bit of a tinker with it, too!)

  


 

_ _ _

 

“Since when do angels asks favors from demons?”

“I am only one angel. My brothers don’t know I’m here. And I had no choice, as I’m sure you already know.”

Lilith folded her arms. Her legs swung off the edges of the seesaw, which glinted with morning dew and wobbled slightly under her weight; a demon stood behind Castiel, holding the other end steady in mid-air. Lilith pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes, an expression Castiel recognized as deviousness. He’d never dealt with Lilith before, but her innocent host was unable to hide the feelings of the abomination possessing it on an otherwise open face.

_Poor child,_ he thought. _Lilith will not leave her untouched when she moves on._

But he was not here for the girl. He was here for Dean Winchester.

“I’ll do it,” Lilith declared triumphantly, and Castiel had to stop his head from sagging in relief. He didn’t want to look weak in front of her, after all. He’d already taken a tremendous risk in coming to this place.

“But I want two things from you,” his companion continued. “You don’t get anything for free, Mr Angel. Dean gets out of Hell, but I want my reward.”

“If it is within my power, I will comply,” Castiel responded steadily. He knew Lilith was thinking of going after the Seals, and he knew he couldn’t help her with them. He was still an angel, after all, and the word of his Lord was strict. He was prepared to say no, to walk away, even if it meant Dean was lost forever. Even if it meant _he_ would be lost forever, without Dean.

Lilith let out a malicious giggle. “I want your wings. I want to hack them off your back and keep them as souvenirs.”

Castiel hissed in a breath of shock and stared into her eyes. Surely she was joking?

But she wasn’t. He thought about it for a while, wondering. Wondering if Dean Winchester could really be worth this. Whether he could actually grant Lilith such a wicked request.

She read the uncertainty in his look and shrugged. “Every minute you think about it, he’s ripping apart another soul down there. He’ll be a demon before you know it, Mr Angel. Once he’s corrupted, there’ll be no turning back and you’ll have lost him for ever and ever and _ever._ ”

“I will not let him turn,” Castiel said after a pause, his voice full of conviction. “You can have my wings.”

“Oh, I don’t just want your wings, silly,” Lilith told him seriously. “If I release him from his contract I want more than just a few feathers in return. You must give me your voice, too. I could do a lot with an angel’s voice.”

“You...” Castiel stopped, perplexed. She couldn’t hurt anybody with his voice. She wouldn’t be able to bring it to bear on mortals, only demons. She wanted to use it to torture her kind, to keep them fearing her, and that was not against God’s wishes.

But without his voice...

“I’m not sure,” he murmured, gazing down at the grass. “It is a lot to ask.”

“You’ve been in love with him since you first saw him. It’s not a lot to ask at all.”

Castiel snapped his head up to stare at her. “Witch,” he hissed.

Lilith laughed. “I know things, Mr Angel. I see them. I look into people’s souls. I see that you’ve been following Dean all his life. You’ve learned about human emotions through him, haven’t you? You can’t stand to see him broken. You also think he can defeat me, but you’re wrong. That’s why I’ll help you – because he isn’t a threat. But I want my payment before I release him. Your wings and your voice. Without them Dean remains in Hell.”

Castiel stared at her.

He licked his lips.

For _Dean._

“As you wish,” he said.

_ _ _

 

The last time Castiel used his wings was to beat back the furnaces of Hell, clearing a path for himself as he made his way to his prize.

Dean was a naked, red-soaked figure in the gloom, the blade in his palm long-past glinting as it drowned in blood. As Castiel reached down a hand and gripped his shoulder, Dean stared up at him with fear and incomprehension, not understanding where all the light was coming from.

Castiel spoke his final words, his voice filled with rejoicing. _“You are saved, Dean Winchester.”_

Dean fell to his knees in what could have been worship, and then he bore him away.

Moments later, as Dean opened his eyes in a coffin beneath the earth, Castiel stood on the grass above him and screamed as the wings were torn from his back by the claws of Lilith’s hell-hounds. Trees toppled in every direction as they flapped in a frenzy of feathers and blood, and the pain was astronomical.

The hounds were brutal, but at least they were quick.

Castiel managed to fade from sight as Dean crawled up towards the sky, and when he saw him take his first breath he almost wept tears of joy. The emotion nearly, but not quite, managed to overwhelm his moans of loss.

_ _ _

 

He tried to talk to him twice, desperate to communicate and knowing he didn’t have long before Lilith would claim his voice, but Dean couldn’t understand him because the words had already started to distort and warp in his throat. It wasn’t long before Lilith’s spell ripped the sound from his being in one long, sinuous scream that shattered windows for a kilometer in either direction.

When he tried to speak afterwards, nothing came out. He was empty.

Only his brothers could hear him now.

_ _ _

 

“You are a fool, Castiel. You shouldn’t have done this. You have crippled your flesh, doomed yourself to a life bound tight by gravity and pain and hopelessness.”

_I had to do it. I couldn’t stand to watch him suffer._

“He is a human! He is not more important than us!”

_He is to me, Uriel. And to his brother, and to so many others he hasn’t even met yet._

“There is a price. You will fall, Castiel. Our Father has been generous, but He is still angry. If Dean Winchester doesn’t prove himself worthy of an angel’s sacrifice within one hundred days, you will be punished for your dealings with demons.”

_That is... fair. I could not have hoped for more._

“He must love you, Castiel.”

_That is something else I must hope for._

“The Lord has found work for him, and we will both deliver His orders. But you cannot come home, my brother. You must stay on Earth.”

_It will be worth it. Dean will not betray the faith I have shown in him. Please, have faith in me as well._

“You are still a fool.”

_I am a fool who can’t even tell Dean who I am. I will need your help, Uriel, as far as you are allowed to give it._

“Always. But I do not have to like this mortal. He has destroyed one of my brethren, and I will never forgive him for that.”

_You are not the one who should forgive him, Uriel. I fear he must learn to forgive himself first._

_ _ _

 

“You’re angels?” sputtered Dean, studying the two figures standing in front of him suspiciously. “Get the hell outta here. There’s no such thing.”

Uriel stepped to one side and opened his wings, lightning flaring around him, casting dark, feathery shadows on the back wall of the barn. Dean’s jaw dropped.

Castiel felt the never-ceasing pain between his shoulderblades pulse and throb as he tried to remember how it had felt to unfurl his own wings. It had only been hours, and yet it felt like decades since he had been whole. His muscles twitched and he winced, wondering if he’d ever get used to the agony, and then he realized that Dean was staring at him.

“Some angels you are,” he said accusingly. “You burned out that poor woman’s eyes.”

Castiel wanted to tell him that it had been accident, that he hadn’t meant to do it, that he’d tried to warn her not to summon him, but he hadn't been able to speak.

He wanted to tell him that he’d pulled him out of Hell.

He wanted to tell him that he knew what Dean had done while he was held there, and that he forgave him.

He wanted to say Dean’s name, to feel it on his tongue, but nothing came.

“I warned her,” said Uriel, covering for him, and Dean’s eyes moved away from Castiel’s face.

_ _ _

 

As the weeks passed, Castiel discovered that Dean’s eyes _always_ moved away from his face.

_ _ _

 

It was difficult. Castiel was beginning to suspect that Lilith had known all along what exquisite torture this would be for him. To be able to stand before Dean after so many years of simply watching him from afar was glorious, but he couldn’t _talk_ to him, make him understand how he felt. It was frustrating beyond all imagining, and Castiel felt as though the injustice of it would drive him insane.

Uriel wasn’t allowed to explain to the Winchesters why Castiel couldn’t speak. As far as they were concerned, Castiel was nothing more than Uriel’s mute sidekick, a dog on a leash at his side.

Dean would only talk to Uriel, often failing to register the other angel’s presence at all.

Somehow, that hurt even more than the ceaseless pain from Castiel’s ruined wings.

_ _ _

 

He would spend each night sitting in the car the boys used to move restlessly from town to town. He knew it meant a lot to them, and so he watched over it in the darkness because he had nothing else to fill his time. He couldn’t go home, after all, and he felt an affinity with the gleaming mass of metal and chrome: always on the outside, looking in, abandoned and alone beyond the circle of living things.

He kept Dean’s dreams at bay, too, replacing his visions of Hell with as much serenity and peace as he could spare. As the days wore on, however, it grew harder, and that was because Castiel was no longer at peace himself.

He couldn’t travel easily any more, not without his wings. But he could make himself invisible, stay with the Winchesters without them knowing, and he would journey with them in the car, unseen, and listen in on their conversations and wonder, always wonder, what they thought of him. What _Dean_ thought of him.

“I wonder what he’s thinking,” Dean said once, as they sped down an interstate crammed with cars so modern they made their own vehicle look like an imposter.

“Who?” asked Sam.

“Castiel. He doesn’t say much but I get the feeling he’s got a lot goin’ on in that head of his.”

Sam sniffed and scratched his neck. “He certainly likes you.”

“What makes you say that?”

“He stares at you all the time. It’s like I don’t even exist. He’s fascinated with you.”

Dean frowned, shooting his brother a dubious look. “I’ve never noticed that.”

“He always moves his eyes down whenever you look at him. He’s quick. It’s like he doesn’t want you to know.” Sam shrugged. “Watch him yourself, next time. I’ll bet he won’t meet your eyes.”

Dean turned back to the road, and Castiel gazed at his reflection in the mirror.

“Huh,” said Dean. “Guess he can’t resist the old Winchester charm, eh?”

But the look in his eyes was dark and frightened, and Castiel worried.

_ _ _

 

The next time they met, he made a point of meeting both Sam’s gaze _and_ Dean’s.

That night Dean told Sam he was wrong, and Sam lifted his hands up in a gesture of supplication, shaking his head and telling Dean something had changed, that usually it wasn’t like that.

Dean got a little angry, far too angry for it to be just about Castiel, and after a while he broke down and told his brother how his last memory of Hell was of a voice telling him he was saved. He said he’d been dreaming about it, that it had made him feel _safe_ and _loved,_ and it hadn’t been Uriel even though Uriel had been the one to pull him out of Hell.

He thought it might have been the voice of _God_ , because who else could have said it?

Castiel sat on the hood of the car and stared at the door to the motel room, biting his lip.

This wasn’t going well.

_ _ _

 

Castiel couldn’t stay invisible forever, and in the end it was the vampires who broke his deception.

There were six of them, hungry and wild, and Dean was outnumbered and cornered. Sam was somewhere outside the building, locked out and frantic as he tried to reach his brother, and it was clear to Castiel that he would be too late. One of the creatures leaned in to fasten jagged teeth on Dean’s neck and that was _it_ ; Castiel couldn’t remain hidden any longer.

The vampire was burned to a cinder in a heartbeat, a holocaust of unholy flesh and bone melting under an angel’s Grace. Two more fell before the others realized what was in their midst and ran, shrieking with animalistic, primal terror, and then the room was empty of everyone except for Castiel and Dean.

“Thanks,” Dean panted, raising a hand to hold his neck. He tried to pull himself up the wall, using it to brace his back, and Castiel reached out and helped him stand. Dean’s arms were bare and his skin was warm, warm enough to make Castiel shudder, and the pain from his missing wings sent a tingle through his being.

“How long have you been here?” Dean asked, leaning back against the wall and breathing heavily. Castiel shrugged, unable and unwilling to answer. He forced himself to let go of Dean’s arm and lifted Dean’s hand from his neck, inspecting the teethmarks underneath. Nothing serious. He nodded at him, letting him know he was fine, and stepped back.

Dean stared at him and Castiel met his gaze stoically, unable to respond in any other manner, and the seconds ticked by. Dean seemed intent on taking his measure, somehow, as though he was seeing him for the very first time. After a short while, during which time the silence grew too loud but Dean didn’t seem to be making any attempt to break it, Sam’s voice called down the corridor and Dean blinked, looking across the room.

Castiel smiled, just enough for Dean to notice from the corner of his eye, and disappeared.

He supposed he could chalk that one up as a little victory.

_ _ _

 

He saved Dean from a rugaru next, putting the poor soul out of its misery with one touch as Sam burst from a closet ready to incinerate it for himself. Once the creature hit the floor he turned to give Sam an approving look, receiving a flustered, wide-eyed nod in return, and bent down to see if Dean was alright.

“Castiel?” Dean said, his eyes fluttering open as the angel placed a hand on his arm, and a curious warmth spread through him. Hearing his name on Dean’s lips was pleasant.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked, kneeling on the floor beside his brother, and Castiel stepped back. He wanted to lift Dean in his arms, fly him away, take him far from Hell and monsters and pain and regret, but he was an angel with no wings and no voice. And Dean had Sam to carry him, anyway.

He left, because it was the right thing to do. For now, at least.

_ _ _

 

“Well, if it isn’t Jay and Silent Bob,” Dean drawled as the two angels walked into the barn.

The demon they called Ruby took a step backwards, her eyes turning black in fear.

“Do you want to explain why you have that _stain_ in the room?” growled Uriel, and Castiel knew he was furious. He was angry a lot these days. He could sense Castiel’s frustration and he was channeling it into his dealings with the Winchesters. It moved Castiel that Uriel cared so much about him, but it made his job harder.

Nobody spoke. Uriel glowered. The Winchesters looked uncomfortable. And Ruby... Ruby was staring at Castiel, puzzlement replacing the fear on her face.

“You’re... different,” she said, curiosity plain in her voice.

Castiel tilted his head to one side, studying her. He waited for Uriel to speak, to fill in the silence as he always did, but he didn’t.

“Where are your wings?” Ruby asked brokenly. “There’s... so much blood. It’s all over you. Are you hurt? You must be hurt, I don’t understand why you...”

Uriel took a step forward but Castiel placed a hand on his arm, stilling him. Dean was staring at him in total bafflement, unable to see what the demon saw. What Uriel saw. What Castiel _felt_.

“What’s she talkin’ about?” Dean asked, and his eyes met Castiel’s.

Castiel opened his mouth, momentarily forgetting his infirmity, and then he closed it again. He narrowed his eyes, trying to say it all in his gaze, but Dean just frowned. He didn’t look away, though, and Castiel felt his heart speed up in sudden joy.

“What do you want with Anna?” asked Sam, and Dean blinked. He shook himself, almost imperceptibly, and glared at Uriel as though nothing had happened. Bereft, Castiel closed his eyes for a few seconds, allowing a sigh to leave his lips, and when he opened them again Ruby was staring at him with eyes so full of sympathy he couldn’t believe they belonged to a demon.

_ _ _

 

It hurt him to see Anna comforting Dean. He didn’t feel jealous, not really, because now he understood what had made Anna choose to fall. He knew her soul was pure and her intentions were good, but it still hurt him to see Dean share himself, let himself go, relax and let his guard down, for however short a time. Not because he didn’t deserve it, but because it wasn’t for _him_.

Uriel _really_ wasn’t happy about it, but that was hardly a surprise.

He had other things to worry about before too long, though. Alastair, like Ruby, registered that he was injured within seconds. The demon used the knowledge to overpower him, to try to fling him down to Hell with a curse, but Dean saved him, thwacking Alastair in the face with a tire iron, despite knowing full well it wouldn’t hurt him.

Castiel tried not to read too much into that, but he really, really wanted to.

All in all, though, it wasn’t the angels’ finest hour, and Dean was angry by the time Alastair had been dispatched. Castiel tried to apologize with his eyes but Dean didn’t seem to care, and it was several weeks before he saw him again. When he did, Uriel did all the talking, and that probably didn’t help.

_ _ _

 

It was a risk, but Castiel didn’t have much to lose.

He stood behind him for a full minute before Dean even noticed he was there. He would have placed a hand on his shoulder – he _desperately_ wanted to place a hand on his shoulder, to touch him, to fit his hand into the print Dean thought had been made by Uriel – but he held himself back. It was difficult. Everything about his existence was difficult now.

“Whoa,” Dean exclaimed, jumping as he turned back from the car and saw him standing there. “Way to go with the stealthy ninja sneaking-up-on-people skillz.”

Castiel smiled, placing his hands in his coat pockets. There were candy wrappers in there, and old bus tickets.

Dean looked around. “Where’s Uriel? Is he here?”

He shook his head.

Dean leaned back on the car. “Okay, so that’s good news, cause I wasn’t in the mood for a fight.” He looked Castiel up and down thoughtfully. “So, uh... what do you want?”

There was no way he could tell him. None at all. He couldn’t write it, couldn’t type it onto a computer screen or tap it out in a text message on Dean’s phone. He wasn’t allowed. All he could do was _look_ at him. He tried so hard to say it all with his gaze, but Dean was all barriers and bravado and hard edges; nothing could penetrate the shields he’d thrown up around himself, and after a short while he looked uncomfortable and dropped his eyes, clearly unsettled by the angel’s intensity.

Castiel clenched his hands into fists in his pockets, closing his eyes, steadying himself. He wanted to scream his fury to the heavens. He’d saved Dean Winchester from Hell, but he wasn’t able to save himself in return. How could he have let this happen?

“I’m sorry,” Dean said, his voice genuinely apologetic. “I can’t understand you. I wish I could, but...”

Castiel nodded, turning his head away from him. He opened his eyes and stared out across the parking lot. His back ached. It felt as though teeth were still tearing into his flesh, digging out feather and bone and muscle every second of every day. He’d grown used to it, but it still hurt. Somehow, it always seemed to hurt more when he was around Dean.

“Are you okay?”

Surprised, Castiel turned back to him. Dean had taken a step forwards and his eyes were filled with concern.

“Ruby said you were in pain,” Dean continued, sounding nervous. “She said something had happened to your wings – they’d been hacked off or something. And she said she could sense some kind of spell around you.”

Castiel nodded, sadness washing over him. A _demon_ could see it, plain as anything, but not Dean. It was so wrong.

“Were you attacked?”

He shook his head.

“Punished?” Dean’s voice was small, as though he was scared of upsetting him. Castiel swallowed uneasily and shook his head.

Dean stared into his eyes. “It was deliberate?”

Castiel nodded, not even daring to breathe.

“Why?” Dean asked, lines appearing on his forehead. “Why would you hack off your own wings?”

_At last. The right question._

Castiel lifted a hand and placed it on Dean’s cheek, ignoring the startled look on his face. He couldn’t speak, he had no voice, but his lips could still move as though they were forming words.

“You,” he mouthed silently.

Dean shook under his palm, eyes wide with shock. Time froze for a few seconds and then he pulled away with a hiss.

“No,” he gasped. “That’s crazy. You didn’t do that for me. You don’t even know me!”

Castiel moved towards him but Dean backed away, holding his hands out defensively. “I don’t believe you,” he growled. “You’re up to something. You angels are always up to something. This is... it’s wrong, is what it is. Just leave me alone, Castiel. All of you, just leave me alone!”

Castiel watched him stalk back to the motel.

Angels couldn’t cry. They had no tears. Somehow, though, his face was still wet when he finally turned away.

_ _ _

 

“Some things are destined not to be.”

_I really thought he would understand._

“He’s human. He’s a mess of fear and anger and hatred. He understands nothing except his own base needs.”

_I saw how he fought in Hell for all those years before they broke him. I thought he was... the one. How could I have been so wrong? Was I really that stupid?_

“You love him, Castiel. It has blinded you, even as it has shorn you of your wings and your voice.”

_I am a fool._

“Yes, you are. But everything you have done has stemmed from love, and our Lord will know that. When you fall, there will be no pain.”

_I will always be in pain. There will be no end to it, because Dean Winchester doesn’t love me._

“For what it’s worth, I am truly sorry, my brother.”

_Thank you, Uriel. Promise me something..._

“Yes. I’ll look after them. You don’t have to worry.”

_ _ _

 

He’d become careless. His existence was unravelling around him. He’d been crippled by a demon who was trying to destroy the world and it was his own fault. He was going to fall, and deservedly so.

And yet all he could think about was Dean.

“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

Castiel jumped, honest-to-goodness jumped, a reaction that no angel should ever have been guilty of. He’d had no idea that Sam was awake; he was too distracted by his own grief. Guiltily he pulled his hand away from Dean’s head and turned to face his brother, keeping his expression as calm as he possibly could given the circumstances.

Not many angels would stop by to stroke a human’s hair while they slept at night.

Sam sat up, the light from the lurid neon sign outside the window painting his skin in blues and reds. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t pretend to be asleep any longer,” he said quietly, and his eyes were sad. “You’re here every night, aren’t you? I’ve seen you by the car, too. I’ve not mentioned it to Dean. You take away his nightmares, don’t you?”

Castiel nodded, allowing a sigh to leave his lips.

“You love him.”

Castiel nodded again. He didn’t even hesitate.

Sam looked at his brother. “He doesn’t know yet, but I think he’s starting to realize, deep down. He’s just... freaked out, y’know? He doesn’t understand why anybody would forgive him after what he did. He doesn’t think anybody can understand.”

Castiel raised a hand and pointed it at Sam, who shook his head. “No, Castiel. Not even me. I _do_ understand, but he won’t see it.”

Castiel closed his eyes and pinched his nose between his fingers. He wanted to unburden himself onto Sam, tell him everything, because he was the only other person in the world who cared about Dean as much as he did. He couldn’t, of course, and suddenly he felt anger roar through him, terrifying in its unexpectedness.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked, and Castiel dropped his hands and clenched his fists. He forced himself to shrug when all he wanted to do was howl in despair. Sam watched his shoulders move and bit his lip, reading his body language in the gloom. “Guess you’re angry, huh?”

Castiel laughed soundlessly and Sam stared at him in confusion, wondering if he should be alarmed.

Between them, Dean slept on.

_ _ _

 

Uriel finally came to understand what Castiel saw in Dean during a battle to stop a Seal being opened in a nightclub in Oregon.

They were overrun, backs to the wall, and there were too many demons to fight off. The Winchesters weren’t supposed to be there: this was a job for the angels, and Castiel was proud, as ever, to stand side-by-side with his brother and destroy creatures untouched by their Father’s divinity. But it was hard, and the demons were strong – fortified by charms that kept blinding the angels, making them lash out in the wrong directions – and Castiel felt fear for the first time since Alastair’s hand had been around his throat.

It was going badly, but then Dean suddenly appeared in the DJ booth, clapping his hands to get the demons’ attention, and the lights in the club dimmed as his voice came over the microphone.

“Okay, guys, good to see you here! It’s been a long day, I know, and I’m sure you’re all lookin’ to unwind, so I thought I’d play you some tunes I hear are stormin’ up the demon charts. First up, I got some Kenny Rogers. I hear he’s huge down in the fashionable parts of Hell. I got some Dolly, too, if you fancy something a little lighter... but I can see you’re a discerning crowd. Well, how ’bout some Britney?”

The demons stared up at him, baffled, and Castiel shot Uriel a smile. He trusted Dean. Dean had a plan. Uriel glared back at him, not understanding, as Dean continued to taunt the crowd.

“Not in the mood for a boogie, eh? Well, here’s something that’ll keep your feet on the dancefloor.” He waved a hand at a far corner of the room and Castiel turned, seeing Sam standing before a projector. He flicked it on and a beam of light suddenly shone upwards to hit a mirror on the ceiling. The mirror reflected the light back onto the floor. It was a pattern. A Key of Solomon, to be exact, twenty feet across and more than large enough to contain the demons within its circle.

En masse, they screamed in fury as they realized they were trapped by nothing more than a beam of light on the ground, and Sam grinned across at Dean, placing the lid back on the pen he’d just used to draw the symbol on the projector display.

Dean grinned back at him, then turned to the angels. “Any requests?” he asked them smoothly. “I’m sensin’ you guys aren’t really into Morbid Angel, but I’ve got some Ozzy if that floats your boat.”

Castiel glanced over at Uriel, and Uriel shook his head.

“Alright,” he said grudgingly. “Perhaps he _is_ a cut above most humans.”

Castiel looked up at Dean and smiled. Just for a moment, the briefest second, Dean quirked a smile back, but it looked nervous. Then he turned away, looking uncomfortable, and kept out of the angels’ way for the rest of the night.

Castiel’s heart sank.

_ _ _

 

He only had hours left now; only one more day of knowing that Dean Winchester didn’t love him. Time was fluid to an angel, but somehow Castiel could have sworn these final hours were passing faster than was possible.

They came to deliver instructions to their human charges, one last time, but Castiel could barely even look at Dean; he stood at Uriel’s shoulder and stared at the carpet disconsolately instead. His brother was angrier than usual today, his mood affected by Castiel’s impending fall, and he was far snappier with the Winchesters than he had any right to be. Castiel winced over and over. Uriel had no self-control. Then again, he, too, had once loved well but not wisely. He knew exactly how Castiel was feeling.

“Do you have any questions?” Uriel spat, after a tense exchange. The orders were clear and the brothers had agreed to investigate Lilith’s latest project, but getting them to say yes had been difficult.

“I want you tell me about Castiel,” asked Dean, unexpectedly.

Shocked, Castiel looked up at him. Dean didn’t meet his gaze; he was glaring at Uriel so intently that even Sam shot him a worried glance.

“What of him?” demanded Uriel, unfazed.

“Is it true?” Dean said tightly. “Did he really cut off his wings for me?”

Uriel looked sideways at Castiel.

_You can answer that,_ Castiel thought to him. _You’re not giving him new information. I told him as much. It doesn’t mean that you’re disobeying orders._

“Yes,” Uriel said, turning back to Dean. “He sacrificed them for you. He didn’t remove them himself, though. They were torn from him by the teeth and claws of creatures you yourself are more than familiar with.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “Hell-hounds?” he breathed, flicking his gaze to Castiel. “You let hell-hounds rip off your wings?”

Castiel nodded sadly.

“Why? What on Earth has this to do with me?”

Uriel looked back at Castiel, who opened and closed his mouth before sighing. That, they weren’t allowed to answer.

“I can’t say,” Uriel replied, his voice regretful. “My hands are tied when it comes to this. I have orders and I can’t break them. He would tell you if he could, but he can’t, and I am forbidden from speaking for him.”

Dean hesitated, concentration on his face. “Castiel, if I ask a series of ‘yes or no’ questions, can you answer them?”

Castiel nodded, biting his lip. He took a step forward and grimaced as the familiar sensation of claws raking over his back crept down his skin.

“Are you in pain?” Dean asked, perceptively.

The angel nodded.

“A lot,” added Uriel, his voice so bitter that Castiel gave him a worried look.

“When you lost your wings... did you lose your voice then, too?”

Castiel nodded again.

“I don’t understand what it has to do with me,” Dean murmured, after thinking for a while. “Did you give them up so you could... trade them for something?”

“Yes,” rumbled Uriel, placing a steadying hand on Castiel’s arm; Castiel hadn’t realized that he was shaking until he felt his brother’s touch. He frowned, gazing up at him.

_Be careful, Uriel. Don’t say too much. I do not wish for you to get caught up in..._

_That is my concern,_ Uriel thought back. _Hush, fool._

“What would you trade them for? I don’t get it.” Dean’s voice was tight with confusion.

“I think I know,” said Sam suddenly.

Castiel gazed at him, seeing the realization dawn on his face. _Samuel,_ he thought, _you are wise. And you are my ally._

Sam took a deep, awed breath. “Dean, he traded them so he could get you out of Hell.”

“What?” Dean looked staggered. He turned to stare at Castiel. “Is that true? Is he right?”

Uriel’s hand tightened on his arm as Castiel nodded. He saw it all hit Dean in a heartbeat: the knowledge that Uriel hadn’t been the one to rescue him, that the handprint on his flesh was Castiel’s, that all this time Castiel had been the angel who had been looking out for him. And then he saw another realization hit him, too.

“You saved me,” Dean said breathlessly. “So that means it was you. That voice I heard in Hell.”

Castiel didn’t nod this time, just fixed him with his gaze. He almost forgot to breathe. Time, which had been moving so quickly of late, slowed down to a crawl.

“I... don’t get it,” stammered Dean. His voice had been getting smaller and smaller with every revelation, and now it seemed tiny. “Why would you do that for me? Why would anybody do that for me?”

There was a long silence, and then Uriel sighed loudly. “Because he loves you, you stupid human fool,” he snapped.

Castiel gasped in horror, twisting to stare at his companion. _No!_ he thought wildly. _Why did you do that? You disobeyed an order! You will fall! Sam already knew – Sam would have told him! There was no need for you to risk yourself!_

“I don’t care,” Uriel said out loud, his voice determined. “You should not suffer for falling in love. Nobody should suffer for falling in love, human or angel. It is wrong, and I will gladly fall from Heaven to speak such a thing out loud for the first time.”

_No!_ moaned Castiel, and he placed a hand on Uriel’s arm. _You should not have sacrificed yourself for me!_

But Uriel shrugged off his grip and turned to Dean, who was staring at them both with wide, uncomprehending eyes. “Dean Winchester, this angel sold his wings and his voice to Lilith to get you out of damnation. He has been cast out of Heaven and forced to live on Earth, lost and in pain. Tomorrow, he will fall into Hell. The only thing that will stop this from happening is you. You must prove yourself worthy of an angel’s love.”

Dean’s face was so pale that Sam stepped up to stand beside him, taking his arm to keep him upright, possibly thinking that he was going to faint. Castiel watched the muscles in Dean’s jaw move as he tried to speak, but nothing came out. He had absolutely nothing to say. He was overwhelmed. It was understandable; the news was a lot to take in, and Uriel’s speech was fearsome in its intensity.

Castiel suddenly felt uncomfortable; he never wanted this, a direct confrontation, a conversation that forced the issue, rather than allowing it to develop naturally. He took a step backwards, pulling Uriel with him. _We should leave,_ he thought to his brother. _He has a lot to think about._

Uriel let out a sigh. “He wishes to leave you to consider his sacrifice,” he said, and Castiel frowned, because that wasn’t really what he’d meant. “We will return tomorrow morning.” Uriel stopped. “Castiel will return tomorrow morning,” he amended. “I am not sure I will be able to.”

“Thank you,” Sam said, surprising them all. He didn’t elaborate, and Dean shot him a curious look, apparently sensing that Sam knew a bit more than he’d been letting on.

Castiel nodded at him, and was gone.

_ _ _

 

Uriel was ordered to stand before the Archangels, but his fate was to be debated rather than decided outright, which was unprecedented in all of heavenly history. Castiel was shocked and Uriel seemed hopeful, but there was no way of knowing what would happen.

“Goodbye, my brother,” Uriel told him, as he left Earth for what could be the last time. “I pray you shall get your answer before it’s too late.”

_Thank you,_ Castiel returned, but words were inadequate. They hugged, and Castiel tried to hide a wince of pain as his companion’s hands fell on his back.

With Uriel gone, he had nothing to do except wait. He sat in the Impala, staring at his hands, wanting to spy on the conversation the brothers were having right now but knowing it would be wrong. He sat there wondering instead.

Wondering how Dean Winchester felt about him.

At times it felt as though he’d spent his whole _existence_ wondering about that.

_ _ _

 

He didn’t have to wait until morning; Dean found him that night. Castiel glanced up as the car shook, a door opened and then Dean was sliding onto the backseat to join him.

“Hey,” he said weakly.

Castiel wanted to meet his gaze but, for some strange, all-too-human reason, he couldn’t. He looked back down at his hands again, pale in the light from the streetlamps.

“So it was you who pulled me out of Hell, then.”

He nodded.

Dean waited for a few moments before saying, “Your voice is... uh, _was_ amazing. I dream about it. Like, a lot.”

Castiel finally summoned the courage to raise his eyes. He stared sideways at his companion.

“Sam says you helped me with my nightmares.”

Castiel nodded.

“I think I could feel you,” Dean said softly. “Like, I’d be dreaming about something terrible, and then there would be this light, and this feeling that I was safe... and there was this presence I recognized, watching over me. All of that, it was you doin’ it?”

Castiel nodded again. He couldn’t really do anything else.

Dean licked his lips, looking away from him and out of the window. “You gotta understand, this is seriously weird for me. I mean, someone deliberately causing themselves pain to save me... It freaks me out, y’know?” He shivered, and Castiel fought the urge to take his hand, to offer comfort. “My Dad, he sold his soul to save my life. I didn’t understand it at the time, and I kinda hated him for it, but then Sammy died and... and I didn’t really have a choice. I did the same thing, for him. I know what it’s like, when you’re desperate.” He stopped, looking back at Castiel. “I just don’t get why you were desperate.”

Castiel closed his eyes in resignation. He opened them again. He reached out and placed a palm on Dean’s cheek, just like the time in the parking lot, only this time round Dean didn’t freak out.

Dean cleared his throat nervously. “I guess... you really love me, huh?”

Castiel smiled. Dean didn’t move away from his hand, but he still seemed a little uncomfortable.

“You do _know_ me, right?” Dean said, his voice wavering slightly. “You know what I did in Hell? ...Except of course you do, you were there.” He took a deep breath. “How long have you been watching me?”

Castiel dropped his hand. He mimed rocking a baby in his arms, feeling a little foolish, but it got the message across. Dean looked stunned. “Okay,” he breathed. “That’s... kinda creepy. All that time, huh? So why do you think I’m worth all this? Why do you say you love me?”

Dean’s voice cracked with the words and the angel grimaced, desperate to explain. _Because you’re a light too, Dean Winchester,_ he wanted to say; _you’re a light to an angel, and I saw you shining from the very moment you were born, all the way from Heaven. You’re a beacon and you drew me to you._ All he could do, though, was scowl, lips attempting to form words that wouldn’t come, fighting to speak so hard that the intensity of it made pain tear across his back.

“It’s alright, don’t sweat it,” Dean told him uneasily, seeing his struggle. “I think we’re communicating here anyway.”

Castiel tried to relax, but it hurt. Dean studied him intently and then unexpectedly placed a hand on his back, right between the shoulderblades. The pressure made Castiel hiss in pain, but he didn’t draw away because Dean’s hand was cool against his burning skin, even through his clothing.

Dean pulled back after a few seconds, his expression sorrowful. “Sorry. I just wanted to... I don’t really know why I did that. Ruby said she saw blood, and I wanted to see if I could feel anything... Just... I’m sorry that you went through that for me.”

Castiel sighed, looking down at his hands again.

Dean fell silent for a while. “I didn’t know you were there,” he said eventually. “My mom used to say there were angels watching over me, but I never believed it when I grew up. I thought we were all alone, that the universe was big and empty and nobody gave a damn about me except for Dad and Sam. I get it now. I was wrong.”

He turned to Castiel, who held his gaze steadily. “I keep thinking back to when you found me in the Pit,” he said. “What you said to me: ‘You are saved, Dean Winchester’. I thought it was God, and now I find out it was you all along. I’m glad.”

Castiel allowed a small smile to rest on his lips, but he didn’t want to get his hopes up. He only had hours left. Dean was still trying to figure this out.

The chances of a ‘happy ever after’ here were slim, and Castiel knew it.

But then Dean raised a hand and rested it on his face, thumb rubbing softly against his cheek.

“So what happens if I kiss you?” Dean queried. “Do you get your wings back? Will you be able to speak?”

Castiel blinked at him. He didn’t think so, but in a universe in which Dean Winchester would kiss him, anything was possible.

“Let’s find out, shall we?” Dean murmured.

And he kissed him.

 

_ _ _


End file.
